by Robert Bevan
The boar looked up at him. “Donald McKinley Cooper?” It’s voice was husky and dry.
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m the ghost of Christmas past.”
“Shit,” said Cooper. “I wish I’d known that back when you gored me in the nuts. We could’ve worked something out.”
“You seem out of sorts. Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”
“I’m just a little concerned about my heart. Bob Marley said I needed a transplant. But then, I don’t expect he’s a licensed cardiologist.”
“Because he’s black?”
“Fuck you, pig!”
The boar’s empty eye sockets squinted as it snorted and wheezed at him. Cooper assumed that’s just the way cooked boars laugh.
“Come, Cooper!” said the boar after it had finished laughing at him. “Take my hoof. I have something to show you.” It stood on its hind legs and reached out a charred, blackened foreleg to Cooper.
The torches on the bedposts flared bright for an instant and then went out completely. Cooper was in total darkness holding hands with a dead pig. They were floating in the void, for the bed beneath him was gone.
“Open your eyes, Cooper,” said the boar.
Cooper hadn’t even realized his eyes were closed. When he opened them, he was sitting on the curb in the parking lot outside a Waffle House. The boar was next to him. The torches had been replaced with electric lamps. It was still dark, but the night was filled with stars.
“What the fuck are we doing at Waffle House?” asked Cooper. “You want to fuel up before a long trip?”
“The long trip is at its conclusion,” said the boar. “This is our destination.”
“You wanted to show me a Waffle House?”
“Not just any Waffle House, Cooper. Come, follow me.” The boar waddled across the parking lot toward the entrance of the restaurant, right into the path of a Ford Taurus with some drunk asshole at the wheel.
Cooper jumped to his feet. “Pig, watch out!” He flinched as the car met the boar, but his fears were unwarranted. The car passed through the animal like it wasn’t even there.
The boar turned around to face him. “You needn’t fear the physical objects of this world. We currently exist on the Ethereal Plane. We can do nothing here but observe.”
“Sweet!” said Cooper. He ran out onto the I-10 just in time to catch a tractor-trailer moving at least ninety miles per hour. It rushed through him fast and noisily, like a hurricane wind. It was exhilarating.
“Cooper!” the boar shouted at him. “Get back over here right now!”
Cooper did as he was told. The boar walked through the front window of the Waffle House, and Cooper followed. Walking through a pane of glass wasn’t as much fun as being hit by a truck, but it was still pretty cool.
The restaurant was empty, except for the beast of a woman behind the counter. She looked like the Hutt that Jabba had rejected for the prom. She was an easy deuce and a half, with a dark, hairy birthmark on the left side of her face. Nice big titties though, and probably an easy lay. A chill ran down Cooper’s ethereal spine at such a thought.
“Does she look familiar, Cooper?”
“She looks like she fell out of the ugly tree and… I don’t know, fucking ate it or something. What does the Waffle House or that fucking yeti have to do with Christmas past?”
“These are your memories, Cooper,” said the boar. “I am but a guide. This is a Christmas seven years ago. You spent it at the casinos on the coast.”
Cooper grinned. “I remember that Christmas. I nailed this chick in the bathroom of a Waff—” Clearer memories began rushing into his head. The Waffle House. The fat chick. The Ford Taurus. The drunk asshole. “NO!”
The bell on the door rang behind him, and Cooper quickly turned around. A younger, human version of himself stumbled through the entrance.
“Ho ho ho, baby!” said the bumbling idiot through a cloud of his own cigarette smoke.
“What can I get for you?” said the thing behind the counter.
“Maybe it’s me who’s got something for you,” said human Cooper, staggering toward the counter like he was being controlled by an unskilled puppeteer.
The big girl raised a bushy eyebrow and laughed. “You couldn’t handle this, sugar. Not in your condition. Seriously, what do you want?”
“Beer’s fine,” said Cooper, finally slumping down on a bar stool.
“We don’t have beer.”
“Jack and Coke?”
“Do you know where you are?”
He looked up into her eyes. “I know where I want to be.”
“Jesus fuck!” said ethereal Cooper, trying to slap his human self. His huge half-orc hands just breezed through his human head, not even stirring a hair. “Knock that shit off!”
He sat through two cups of coffee and some of the most painful and desperate flirting he’d ever heard. Eventually, she started to succumb to his drunken charm.
During his third cup of coffee, the she-beast came out from behind the counter.
“Where is she going?” Cooper asked the boar.
“I think you know.”
She locked the front door and hung up the “Closed” sign.
“No!” cried Cooper. “You can’t close the Waffle House! The Waffle House is never closed!”
She turned around and gave human Cooper a come-hither look. Spirit Cooper wanted to puke his ethereal guts out, but human Cooper had a conspicuous bulge in the crotch of his jeans. She took his hand and led him to the women’s restroom.
“Let’s go, man,” Cooper pleaded with the boar. “I really don’t want to hear what goes on in there.”
“You shall hear!” the boar shouted at him. “And furthermore, you shall see!”
“No, ghost pig!” cried Cooper. “You can’t make me!” But even as he said it, his ethereal body drifted involuntarily toward the bathroom door.
As he got nearer, the sounds coming from within the bathroom grew louder and more disturbing, like a mop wringer.
Cooper’s head was level with the boar’s, facing the women’s restroom door and almost touching it.
The boar turned to Cooper. “It is time. Behold!”
Their heads went through the door simultaneously. On the other side was a ghastly sight. The first thing Cooper homed in on was his own bare ass. He was standing upright, pounding away into her from behind. She was bent over the sink, just a stack of moaning fat rolls. It looked like he was raping the Michelin Man.
“Make it stop, spirit!” cried Cooper. “Please make it stop!”
“Okay,” said the boar. “I can’t take much more of this either.”
Sight and sound began to fade until Cooper was once again in silent oblivion.
*
Cooper’s sensory deprivation was so complete that he even started to doubt his own existence until he felt cold stone beneath his feet. He dropped to his knees and pawed at the ground, looking for a clue as to which way he should proceed.
The dilemma was solved when two torches burst into life on a wall directly in front of him. Between them, they illuminated an ornate golden door. A pair of cherubs, one high and one low, held either end of a staff, which served as the door’s handle.
Cooper stepped forward and gripped the handle. Testing it, he found the door moved freely in either direction. He pulled it open just enough to take a peek at whatever might be on the other side.
“Cooper!” a voice boomed from within the next room.
There was no point in trying to hide. He’d been made. He opened the door wider. Mordred sat on a gilded throne at the far side of the room. His stupid purple cloak had transformed into a plus-sized Hugh Hefner smoking jacket, exposing more of his pasty man-cleavage than Cooper could stand to look at. He looked like the king of the Bacchus parade.
“Come in and know me better, man,” said Mordred. His voice echoed in the chamber like a god’s.
“This is well more than I ever wanted to know you,�
� said Cooper.
“I’m sorry,” said Mordred, cupping a hand around his ear and leaning forward. “Could you speak up?”
Cooper’s eyes readjusted. The room was far larger than he had first assumed, which made Mordred proportionately larger as well. He must have been about forty feet tall. It might have been his giant bed Cooper had woken up in. He was glad he’d reconsidered masturbating in it. That would have been weird.
Cooper raised his voice. “What do you want?”
The giant Mordred smiled and shrugged. “Peace on Earth. Good will toward men.”
“So you’re the ghost of Christmas present.”
“What do you think?”
“It makes sense,” said Cooper. “You’ve got more than eighteen hundred fathers.”
Mordred frowned. “It’s brothers.”
“I know,” said Cooper. “That was just a cheap shot at your mom. The implication was that she’s a big whore.”
“Yeah,” said Mordred. “I got it.”
“You mind if we get this show on the road?” asked Cooper. “I’d kind of like to hurry through this part. I’m still pretty pissed at you for sending us here and giving me perpetual diarrhea.”
Mordred stomped his great booted feet on the ground and rose from his throne. The room shook. “Is that any worse than what you did to me?” he bellowed. “Blame me not for the consequences you bring upon yourself! Your heart is dark and your deeds are wicked!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Giant Mordred grabbed a torch from a sconce on the wall and walked toward Cooper. He must have been shrinking as he walked, as Cooper’s perception of his size never changed. By the time he reached Cooper, they were approximately the same size. “Take my sleeve.”
Cooper did as he was told, and the chamber began to crumble around them. Giant chunks of the stone ceiling smashed into the floor, obliterating both on impact. The walls crumbled away to nothing. The great throne melted away. When it was all done, he and Mordred were standing on a quiet, snow-covered street. It took Cooper a moment to realize they were standing outside the Whore’s Head Inn.
“Hold on a sec,” said Cooper. “Why’s it snowing? It’s not even cold out.”
“Your mind is confusing your current reality with more conventional images of Christmas,” Mordred explained. “Pay no mind to the snow.”
In front of the door, Cooper saw his own body lying unconscious on the ground. “Am I dead?”
“Ho ho ho!” Mordred chuckled a hearty Santa Clause laugh. “Not yet, friend.”
“Is this what you wanted to show me?”
“This much even you could have figured out on your own,” said Mordred. “Be patient, man. Watch.”
He didn’t have to wait long. The door opened, spilling out multi-colored flashing lights and the sounds of merrymaking. Julian led Dave and Tim to Cooper’s unconscious body.
“Can you help me drag him inside?” said Julian, the only one who looked even remotely sober.
“Is it snowing?” asked Tim.
“Of course not,” said Dave. “You’re just trashed. Hey, what are my gauntlets doing out here?”
“Wait, Dave!” cried Julian. “Don’t –” but it was too late.
“What the fuck?” said Dave, pulling his arm back out of the glove. It was slimy and brown. The leopard fur band on his forearm was slathered in half-orc shit.
Spirit Cooper nudged Mordred with his elbow. “What did I say, huh? Fucking hilarious.”
“Do you see anyone laughing?” asked Mordred.
“Julian’s too uptight, Tim’s so trashed he barely knows where he is, and Dave’s the butt of the joke,” said Cooper. “Of course no one’s laughing now. But they’ll come around tomorrow.”
“Will they?” asked Mordred. “Will they laugh when Dave dies of dysentery? Will they laugh when Tim shrivels up to a mere husk of a halfling and loses the use of his legs?”
“No!” said Cooper. “Not Tiny Tim! Hold on… I didn’t shit in Tim’s gloves. How’s he going to get dysentery?”
“Let’s go back to Dave for a moment,” said Mordred. “He’s the real Bob Cratchit of this story.”
“Wait a second. How many Bobs are in this story?”
“Just the one.”
“But what about –“
“Your mind jumbled the memories of Bob Cratchit and Jacob Marley, creating Bob Marley. It’s because you’re stupid.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Why do you treat Dave so badly?” asked Mordred. “What have you got against the guy?”
“Dave sucks.”
“Can you be anymore specific?”
“No,” said Cooper. “It’s a general suck.”
Dave threw the gauntlet down at Physical Cooper. It bounced off his face. Cooper grunted. His eyelids twitched, and he put his finger in his nose.
Spirit Cooper turned to Mordred. “See?”
“You felt that was undeserved?”
“He attacked me while I was sleeping.”
“Come on, guys,” said Tim. “Let’s get back to the party. Leave this dickhead in the snow.”
“What snow are you talking about?” said Dave.
“You two can stand out here and freeze your asses off if you want,” said Tim. “I’m going back inside.”
“What are you talking about?” said Dave. “It’s not even cold.”
“Screw this,” said Tim. “I need a –” His little halfling arms flailed out as he slipped in Cooper’s vomit puddle. Dave caught one of them to keep him from falling down, thus answering the question of how Tim contracts dysentery.
Dave led Tim back inside the Whore’s Head. Julian hesitated, looking down at Cooper, but eventually abandoned him as well.
Spirit Cooper frowned. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. It’s my Intelligence. You said so yourself. I’m stupid.”
“Let’s take a walk,” said Mordred. “I have one more thing I want to show you.”
Cooper gloomily followed Mordred to the apothecary across the street.
Mordred pointed his torch into the alley between this building and the one next to it. “After you.”
Cooper walked into the alley. It was dark, in spite of Mordred’s torch behind him, so he proceeded cautiously, keeping one hand on the brick wall to maintain direction. The alley went on far longer than it should have. He seemed to be walking for miles, and maybe even descending.
After an indeterminate length of time, Mordred spoke. “Stop. We have arrived.”
“How can you tell?” asked Cooper.
Mordred walked past Cooper and thrust his torch forward. The flame flared bright, illuminating the end of the alley.
They were at a dead end. Ahead of them, two emaciated children – a boy and a girl – were shackled to the wall. Their eyes were milky white, and they snapped their teeth at Cooper, as if trying to eat him, but their chains held true.
“Jesus Christ!” shouted Cooper. “Who the fuck are they?”
“His name is Intelligence and hers is Charisma,” said Mordred.
“What the fuck are they doing chained in the alley?”
“I should probably remind you that you’re dreaming right now,” said Mordred. “Weird shit happens in dreams.”
Cooper nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Beware them both,” warned Mordred, “for they are not your friends. But blame them not for your actions. The choices you make are yours alone.”
The light from Mordred’s torch began to fade swiftly. By the time Cooper turned around, he was in complete darkness. It wasn’t the void, like the previous times, as he could still hear the snarling and snapping of the kids chained to the wall.
“Mordred?” Cooper called out. There was no answer. “Mordred!” The word simply echoed down the long, dark alley. “You fat fuck! Don’t leave me alone with these freakshow kids!”
He reached out, and was relieved to find the brick wall where it was supposed to be. He walked briskly away from the tw
o rabid children, and was surprised to find the journey back to the street only took a few seconds.
Cooper ran out into the middle of the street and waited. He was still shaken up by the two kids shackled in the alley, but he was more excited by anticipating who might represent the ghost of Christmas yet to come.
He stood in the middle of the street, closed his eyes, placed the clawed tips of his index fingers on his temples, and tried to will Doc Brown to blast onto the scene in his DeLorean. It was his dream, after all. Surely he could choose the last ghost.
Several minutes passed without any lightning-engulfed cars or wild-eyed mad scientists. Now that he thought about it, nothing at all was going on. The street was eerily quiet, even for as late at night as it must have been. He gave up on meeting Christopher Lloyd and walked back to the Whore’s Head Inn.
The first thing he noticed was that the front windows were broken. He must have missed a hell of a party. He peeked into one window to find that the place was empty. A layer of dust covered the floor and furniture, suggesting that it had been empty for quite some time.
“Hello?” he called inside. There was no answer.
He walked over to the entrance, surprised to find it wide open. Also surprising was the fact that his own body was missing. Had he woken up? Had the guys had a change of heart and dragged him inside?
A loud caw startled Cooper out of his speculations. Ravenus looked down at him from his perch on top of the tavern sign.
“Goddammit!” said Cooper. “Not you! Anyone but you!”
“There is no one else but me!” said Ravenus.
“Whoa,” said Cooper. “How come I can understand you?”
“Because you’re dreaming, fucktard.”
“Oh, right.”
“Follow me,” said the bird. He flew in short bursts, perching on tree branches or lamp posts as he waited for Cooper to catch up.
Cooper followed Ravenus out of the Collapsed Sewer District, to the outer-regions of the city where there were more open spaces than buildings. In the middle of one such open space stood a single tombstone.
Ravenus flapped down to land atop the stone. “Behold!”
Memories of Scrooge McDuck started to manifest in Cooper’s head, and his heartbeat quickened. “Whose grave is this, spirit?”